


Something Wonderful

by Severina



Category: Young Riders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-28
Updated: 2003-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-23 03:35:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Buck leaves his ranch to attend a ceremony honouring Teaspoon, and finds more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Wonderful

Buck stood at the window, its once cheery panes mired in dirt and grime, and tried to put a halt to the misery that claimed his heart.

Below him, the formerly thriving township of Prairie Flats shuffled listlessly to its demise. The mine had run dry a year ago, and with its loss hundreds were out of work. The railroad saw no need to maintain its station in the town, what with so many leaving for greener pastures. A few stalwarts still lingered on, determined, or desperate, to make the town solvent again. Buck knew it was a useless gesture. Prairie Flats was dead. They just forgot to bury the body.

Sighing, he pushed aside the one rattletrap chair in the room and brushed his hand against the ragged curtain fluttering in the late afternoon breeze. It wasn't difficult to summon up the memory of the splendour of this room in its glory days. The elegance of the people that congregated here. The beauty of one person in particular.

Buck closed his eyes... and remembered.  


* * * * *

"...And it was his foresight and courage that halted the advance of the rebel column mere miles from the territory border. Had it not been for one man's actions, hundreds -- nay, thousands -- of lives would have been lost. It is my distinct pleasure in my official capacity as governor of the great Territory of Nevada to present the medal of valour to our esteemed guest of honour, Mr. Aloysius Hunter."

Buck joined in the applause that greeted Teaspoon's ascent to the podium. Buck grinned as Teaspoon took off his much-worn hat to wave it exuberantly in the air. Though the former stationmaster now made use of a cane, he was certainly no less spry or enthusiastic.

Buck half-listened as Teaspoon deftly praised the efforts of the men and women of Prairie Flats in rebuffing the confederate attack. It wasn't that he regretted attending the ceremony to give tribute to Teaspoon's heroism. He simply wished that one of the other former riders could have joined him. To say that he felt out of place was an understatement.

Shifting on his feet, Buck glanced around the spacious hotel ballroom. His eyes lit on the banquet tables, laden with every northern delicacy he could imagine. Cody would love them. but Cody was still scouting for the army, likely deep in enemy territory and risking his life. Jimmy... well, Jimmy wouldn't have found much to like. unless he could spike the punch. But Jimmy -- and the flask of whiskey that became part of his costume when the Express disbanded -- was long gone. His invitation to this soiree had been "returned to sender" by the owner of the hotel in which he'd last hung his hat. Kid and Lou would have attended, had Lou not been in the final weeks of her confinement. Buck shrugged uncomfortably. He could understand why his friends weren't here to support their mentor... but he didn't have to like it.

The sound of lively applause brought Buck back to the present with a snap. Looking around guiltily, he joined in while hoping that Teaspoon hadn't notice his woolgathering from the podium. He took a few steps forward to offer his congratulations, but Teaspoon was soon overwhelmed by more important well-wishers. Buck made his way to the punchbowl to wait it out.

"What a... strange little man."

Buck found himself none-too-gently pushed aside as a tall redhead in a big hat reached across him to the finger sandwiches.

"I know!" her companion agreed breathlessly, manicured nails spread across her chest dramatically. "Surely there were more _appropriate_ candidates for the medal of valour. I don't think that Mr. Hunter has had a bath this century! And those clothes!"

Buck looked down at his shoes, silently fuming, before turning to the two women. "I imagine Mr. Hunter was honoured for his bravery, not his fashion sense."

As expected, he earned nothing but a couple of dirty looks for his trouble. The redhead drew an arm around her companion, tugging the smaller women towards the pastries. He turned away as they bent their heads together. "I can't believe they let _those_ people in here," the redhead muttered to her friend.

"Why, Clara Taylor!" a lively feminine voice chimed in. "What an _interesting_ choice of gown. Are you working in the saloon part-time or full-time?"

Buck's head whipped up in time to see the redhead's look of horror. Her gaping mouth tried desperately to form words, but all she could seem to manage was the gasping, gurgling sound of a fish on a hook. Her wide eyes were fixated somewhere at a point beyond Buck's shoulder. He turned in time to see the owner of the voice stride confidently into view, and felt himself gasping for an entirely different reason.

"Don't look so shocked, Clara," the newcomer smirked at the redhead. "Why, you're acting as though there's something _wrong_ with me judging you on your appearance!"

Leaving Clara to flail in her wake, the newcomer turned to Buck with a dazzling smile. "I don't believe we've been introduced," she said, holding out her hand. "Elizabeth Clayton."

Buck realized his mouth was hanging open. Closing it with a snap, he struggled to remember where he was. He struggled to remember _who_ he was. He reached to take the proffered hand, then saw that he was still holding a half-eaten watercress sandwich. Hastily dropping the tidbit onto the table behind him, he managed to control his breathing long enough to get something out. "Buck Cross, ma'am."

Elizabeth's smile widened as their hands met. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cross. Have you enjoyed today's festivities?"

Buck returned the smile with what he hoped was confidence as he desperately racked his brain trying to remember what "festivities" had been planned for the day. Was there a pie contest? An auction? Why hadn't he paid closer attention to Teaspoon's letter? Finally he shrugged. "I only arrived an hour ago. I just wanted to be here for Teasp… Mr. Hunter."

Elizabeth quirked a brow. "Oh? Are you friends with Mr. Hunter? My father had him over for supper last night. He tells the most outrageous stories." She laughed. "I couldn't decide whether I wanted to believe him or not!"

Buck joined in the laughter, imagining the tales that Teaspoon had dredged up to regale the lovely Elizabeth and her father. "I imagine they were all true, Miss Clayton. Teaspoon's worked as a Texas Ranger, a gold miner, a marshal, a dozen other jobs. He was the stationmaster when I rode for the Express."

"A Pony Express rider. How exciting." Elizabeth pressed his hand briefly before releasing it, blue eyes sparkling. She leaned close, lowering her voice. "But tell me, Mr. Cross... how did Mr. Hunter come by the name 'Teaspoon'?"

Buck grinned. Teaspoon was going to KILL him for this, but he couldn't help himself. Who could resist eyes like pure crystal springs and hair like spun gold? "Well, it all started when he was a private with the Rangers, and--"

"Elizabeth, there you are!"

Buck frowned at the interruption, pleased to note that the expression was mirrored on the face of the beautiful woman at his side. He grinned when Elizabeth rolled her eyes before turning to face the cause of the disruption in their conversation.

"Daniel," she greeted the newcomer coolly. "Let me introduce you to Mr. Cross. Buck Cross, Daniel McPherson."

Buck nodded a greeting, taking in the other man's appearance and trying to avoid thinking about the disheartening lurch in his stomach. Daniel had several inches, several years and, apparently, thousands of dollars on him. The man's Paris-style surcoat alone was worth several months of Buck's current income. Buck found himself tugging self-consciously on the sleeve of his own jacket. His best, but several years out of date. In fact, it was the same jacket he'd owned when he rode with the Express. The only good jacket he'd _ever_ owned. He'd just never had the occasion to buy another. He'd never wanted to impress anyone before.

The older man curtly returned the nod, not bothering to hide his displeasure at finding Elizabeth with an Indian. An undesirable. Buck felt his stomach lurch again at the familiar look of derision and contempt.

"Elizabeth." Daniel tugged gently on Elizabeth's arm, trying to ease her away from Buck's side. "You really mustn't let your time be monopolized by," he glared down his nose at Buck, "some people. Come; I want you to meet the Randalls."

"Come?" Elizabeth repeated incredulously. "Do I appear to be a mangy cur, Daniel, that you can lead about at your leisure?"

"Elizabeth--"

"Daniel." Elizabeth cut off the protest sharply. "I thought I had made my feelings perfectly clear. Apparently that is not so. Let me explain it to you in a way that will leave no room for misinterpretation. I would rather be rolled in honey and staked naked on an anthill than spend any time with you and your friends. Do you understand me, Daniel?"

Buck had heard of people turning green, but he'd always thought it was an exaggeration used in badly-written dime novels. He didn't think he'd actually ever witness it.

"I... I..."

"Fabulous." Elizabeth turned from the older man in a whirl of taffeta, just as the band began to play their first tune of the evening. "Where were we, Mr. Cross?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"We'll remember soon enough," Elizabeth smiled. She cocked her head, listening for a moment to the lively music. "Would you like to dance, Mr. Cross? I know it isn't considered proper for the lady to ask the gentleman, and Emily Post would likely have a fit, but I really don't care about what Emily Post thinks about… well, about much of anything."

"I'm beginning to see that," Buck managed to sputter out.

"So... shall we dance?"

Buck gulped. "I… I don't know." When Elizabeth merely raised a brow, he smiled. "The thing is, Miss Clayton… you may look like a butterfly, but you sting like a bee!"

Elizabeth laughed, eyes sparkling with glee. "Only to those with small minds or endless arrogance. I don't think you fit into those categories, do you, Mr. Cross?"

"I would say that I don't."

"Then," Elizabeth wrapped her arm snugly around Buck's, leading him to the dance floor, "I promise to keep my stinger firmly sheathed."

Two hours and many dances later, Elizabeth and Buck found themselves ensconced in a corner of the room taking a much-deserved breather. Buck watched as Elizabeth stood gazing out the window, her forehead pressed to the glass as she strained to take in as much of the night sky as she could. The moonlight shining through the windowpane turned her fair skin to alabaster and her golden hair to summerfire, and Buck ran his hand through the delicate lace fabric of the curtains to keep himself from letting his fingers drift across that pale flesh, to keep himself from running his hands through that cornflower hair, to keep himself grounded and safe.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Elizabeth sighed, finally pulling herself away from the glitter of the stars that blanketed the sky.

"Beautiful," Buck agreed with a playful grin.

Elizabeth's eyes caught his as she blushed, pushing teasingly at his arm. "Will you be in town long, Mr. Cross?"

"I..." Buck glanced down at the floorboards, absently twirling a slender finger through the fragile lace of the curtains and cursing himself for not planning an extended visit with Teaspoon. Buck knew his reasons had seemed valid at the time. His horse ranch was still fairly young, and so were his staff. Running a complex operation, maintaining the books, ensuring that the horses were properly cared for... it was all so new to him. New and confusing, and exhilarating as hell. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bernard to take care of things while he was gone. It was just that Buck felt so much better knowing that he was there, should he be needed.

He raised his eyes, aware that Elizabeth was still watching him expectantly. "I have to go back to my ranch tomorrow," he explained, heartening a little at Elizabeth's disappointed expression. "But I'm planning to come back soon," he added, part of him wondering where the heck that came from.

"Next month, in fact." Who was this person, Buck wondered, and how did he get access to my lips?

"I have to come back into town to... to..." Buck floundered, at a loss. What could he possibly need to do in Prairie Flats that he couldn't do in Sweetwater? "Uhh…to--"

"To visit me?" Elizabeth's eyes gleamed mischievously.

"Am I that obvious?"

Elizabeth grinned easily, tucking her arm in his. "I sense that guile is not part of your repertoire, Mr. Cross. A fact for which I am very grateful."

"Then... if I'm going to be courting you, Miss Clayton--"

"You should be calling me Elizabeth."

"And you should be calling me Buck."

"Oh," Elizabeth smiled, leading the Kiowa back to the dance floor, "I'll be calling you, Buck."

* * * * *

"Want to head over to the restaurant for supper?"

Buck heard the voice, but it seemed to come from miles away. Opening his eyes, he let the tattered remains of the curtain fall from his hand with a sigh.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Buck closed his eyes again as the supple arms wrapped around him from behind, enveloping him in warmth. He allowed himself to lean back slightly, drawing comfort from his wife's embrace.

"Just thinking how everything has changed. So much is gone. Destroyed. Entire hunting grounds. Thousands of buffalo. And…even this. Even Prairie Flats." Buck turned in Elizabeth's arms, cradling his hands to her cheeks tenderly. "I fell in love with you in this room."

Elizabeth drew back, taking his hands in hers. "Change is a part of life, Buck. And for everything that is gone, we have to believe that something wonderful will replace it. Something wonderful," she repeated, pressing his hand against her still-flat stomach.

Buck smiled, albeit a little shakily. "I still can't believe I'm going to be a father."

"You'll be magnificent."

"I don't know. Imagine if it's a girl." Buck shuddered elaborately.

"Hey!"

"I don't know if I can handle two fiery blondes with attitude," Buck continued, easily sidestepping Elizabeth's half-hearted punch.

Elizabeth pouted, though her eyes were sparkling. "Didn't I promise to keep my stinger sheathed where you were concerned?"

"You did, and you have," Buck confirmed. At Elizabeth's triumphant smile, he added, "At least most of the time."

"Buck Cross, you completely deserved that! An entire pail of red paint on my wash line! I don't even know--"

Laughing, Buck silenced his wife the way he always silenced her -- with a kiss. When the pair drew apart, they were both breathless and definitely hungry for something other than supper.

"Race you back to the hotel."

Buck scuffed his toe on the dirty floorboard. "I don't know, in your delicate condition... Go!"

He took off at a run, Elizabeth's delighted squeal of "Cheater!" echoing in his ears. The twosome clattered down the stairs and into the street, laughing like children. Outside, Buck caught his wife in his arms and kissed her again before taking her hand and leading her to the hotel. To something wonderful.


End file.
